


Morgan the Bold

by Accidentallytechohazardous



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Amnesia, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 06:30:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10893663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidentallytechohazardous/pseuds/Accidentallytechohazardous
Summary: She raises her clenched fists up to her chest, shoulders set with determination. “I don’t know why, but I have this strong feeling that you’re important to me!”Amidst all the destruction, the war and the children falling out of the sky from the future, Robin and Lon'qu feel like they have this whole relationship thing pretty much on lock. Up to and until one of those kids claim to be Robin's.





	Morgan the Bold

At times, Lon’qu questions Robin’s better judgement. Often, in fact, though it’s not his place to go around announcing this fact like he has any better ideas.

There’s so much traveling between battles. And so much effort that needs to go into supporting a huge group of people. Time to feed the soldiers, to heal the sick and wounded, to allow for sleep and mental recuperation between each brush with death. But at points when Lon’qu walks through the camp, with rows of tents set up neatly to weather the gentle rain, and some comrades curled up under a tarp with cups of hot tea (fire magic graciously and precariously provided by Ricken) it feels almost like strolling through a small, ordinary town. Lon’qu himself can’t imagine how anybody could feel safe here, knowing that this whole place they’ve all but so much work into could be torn down by an ambush in minutes.

“It’s important for people to have an outlet. And aside from that, living together builds stronger bonds than just working together. You fight alongside your friends better than you fight alongside strangers.” Robin always points out without fail, shuffling some miscellaneous pieces around a large map in the war tent. They have to make due with what they come by, so Robin just uses whatever he finds as pieces. Lon’qu is pretty sure that thimble represents Frederick, and the little piece of a handkerchief is Maribelle.

“You would be the expert.” Lon’qu replies, arms folded over his chest and keeping a serious eye on Robin as he fidgets and frets over maps and battle plans and thimbles. The usual routine.

He watches Robin’s eyebrows rise as he looks up at Lon’qu with a wry smile. It’s an unfortunate angle- Lon’qu can see the shadows under Robin’s eyes, as well as the tint of red that threatens the corners. “Well, I suppose there are some disadvantages, too. Being focused in battle also means not worrying about the safety of others over your own.”

Robin likes to try and nail down Lon’qu’s thoughts, attempt to figure out what’s going on in that imperceivable little head of his. He’ll chase down even the most innocuous comments Lon’qu manages to let slip like a cat and try to drag a conversation out of it. For such a clever, methodical man, he sure does set his sights on the oddest of goals.

“Perhaps. I certainly know I’ve never felt like I’ve benefitted from the loss of a close comrade.” Or a friend. He watches the tip of Robin’s tongue dart between his teeth as he glances back down to the map. If Lon’qu is thinking of Ke’ri, he wonders what the mysterious amnesiac tactician is thinking about. Perhaps all the friends he has now that he is responsible for keeping alive. Or maybe of Exalt Emmeryn.

“Nor I.” Robin admits. “But no one would be in this army if they weren’t ready to sacrifice. Everyone deserves to have their choices respected-”

Brown eyes lift again and bore holes into Lon’qu, “Even the children.”

Feeling his spine stiffen, Lon’qu restrains a noise of disgust. Even now, out of the corner of his ears he can hear Severa’s shrill voice give Inigo a fatal lashing for his shenanigans. “I didn’t think you heard about that.”

“You snapped at Cynthia, I’m surprised the whole camp doesn’t know about your ‘miscarriage of justice.’ If you’re not careful, she’ll tell on you.”

“I’m not worried about Lord Chrom.”

“Good. Save that for Sumia.” Robin smirks, but not in a way that seems unkind. “Chrom wouldn’t let the kids into this army if he didn’t trust them. They have a lot of experience we don’t.”

“Then I suppose you would like to keep sending me on missions with them to chaperone. Want me to pack them lunches for the trip as well?” Lon’qu says, and he lets his lip curl in distaste at the thought. He knows how experienced these child soldiers are. Knows how hard they whine about it as well practically every chance they get, yelling their heads off about their bleak future as if no one else has ever had it rough before. Lon’qu supposes they came to the past expecting it to be all sunshine and daisies compared to where they’re from.

Robin looks a little bit sheepish in the face of Lon’qu’s blatant disapproval. “So you’ve noticed that, huh? I guess I like having you around to keep an eye on the newbies. You keep them in line, after all.”

“What happened to trusting the children, then?”

“I said Chrom trusted the children. I’m just his tactician. What do I know aside from war and dusty old books?” Robin shrugs blithely, all fake modesty and humble nonchalance. Lon’qu can only imagine how exhausting it must be for him, to constantly be lying just to put others at ease. Exhausting and futile.

“Besides-” And at once Robin’s eyes flash. Just for a minute. Just sparingly under the flutter of long eyelashes the color of freshly fallen snow. “I trust _you_ , especially.”

A breath falls out of Lon’qu’s nose, heavy as if he had been holding it for the entire conversation. Diverting his gaze to the open mouth of the tent and watching rain dribble down the lip, he tries to ignore the subtle heat crawling up his chest. “Empty flattery doesn’t suit you.”

“Neither does selling yourself short.” Robin practically sing-songs as he clears off his table of doodads and rolls up the large map. It flops around in his arms, leaving him scrambling foolishly over the parchment. Chrom’s master tactician, indeed. “Anyways, try to take this opportunity to relax. This army is already a handful as is, and I doubt it’s going to get any less rowdy from here on out.”

Lon’qu watches Robin flounder for a good few minutes with paper, before taking mercy on the tactician by marching over and snatching it out of his hands. With a flourish usually reserved for the leather binding to be wrapped around fragile, antique swords, Lon’qu rolls the parchment up nicely while Robin mutters something about being bossy. “Accompany me to the kitchen tent. You’ve been working too long, and you can’t honestly expect me to relax while you fret and potter around camp for hours on end.”

“I don’t potter.” Robin says crossly, shuffling away with his back to Lon’qu. “I amble. Sometimes I meander.”

“Meander your way out the door.” Lon’qu peels aside the entrance to the tent to make more room, noting with disapproval that the rain continues to pour down. Being from Regna Ferox Lon’qu is hardly one to complain about bad weather, but moving a group this big through the mud and slurry will be a long and arduous affair for everybody.

Hopefully, at least, the insects will enjoy the humidity.

“Hmm, I hope Sumia or Brady is cooking tonight...” Robin hoists his hood up over his head against the downpour, though all he really does is provide the rain with a convenient, absorbable fabric it can soak into. Lon’qu bravely resists the urge to warn Robin to be careful about catching a cold, on the grounds that he is not Robin’s medic and he should be able to take care of himself. Perhaps he really has been around children too long.

Lon’qu doesn’t think about the future too much. Questions about the future seem to always ironically bare memories of the past, which are just about the opposite of what he cares for. Thinking ahead distracts from the now, and he likes where he is now- Basilio’s right-hand man. Ally to the Shepherds. Reaching a grand total of 35 friends above his previous rank of 0. Helping out Robin here and there, and maybe even being around Robin in other ways.

But even walking in a straight line across soft soil of the temporary camp, it’s clear that not everyone is where Lon’qu is. They’re all thinking of a better future. Of their children. On one side of camp, Cherche is trying to coax an unruly Gerome into helping her construct a shelter for the Minervas. On the opposite, Henry tries to cheer up his shivering daughter by making the spider that spooked her twirl in midair.

“See? This lil’ gal can’t hurt ya, Noire. She’s just a little skittering, scampering, venom-spewing friend! Right, Noire? …. N-Noire…”

And as amusing as it is to see Henry flustered for once (as well as find something he actually loves more than blood and birds) Lon’qu has to seriously wonder how many of these people are responsible enough for… well, for a kid. They seem to accept the presence of their future offspring in stride- and why wouldn’t they? Of course a happily wedded couple would produce a child. Of course they would love that child unconditionally. That was never a question for some people, just a reality.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lon’qu watches water dribble down the edges of Robin’s coat, Looking shiny and almost black in the sheets of falling rain. If everybody is looking forwards to future of wedded bliss and churning out babies, then that leaves Lon’qu and Robin in a pretty sticky spot.

Not that any of that matters in reality. Not that Robin has given any indication to thinking of Lon’qu as more than a paramor for the here and now, or to wanting children in any capacity. Not that Lon’qu would even be amenable to those things even if Robin was.

The two of them had just barely reached the kitchen tent when yet another one of the future children barrels into their way. This time it’s the only one of the children Lon’qu has so far cared to know, and it’s because he owes her a very harsh comeuppance in the form of a rematch. Lucina’s stony lips are as tight as ever in a grim line. Hair the perfect azure hue of Chrom’s is speckled black in mud.

“Robin,” She acknowledges him, of course. Lon’qu might as well be a ghost- which he surely wouldn’t care about, were it not imperative that she notice him trying to give her those powerful ‘I will defeat you and fairly reclaim my title which is most dear to me, you rotten usurper’ vibes. “I hope you’re finishing up your meal just now. It is important that we all get moving quickly, and my father will need your help co-ordinating the next mission.”

“Oh? Lucina, I haven’t heard about any new mission. We only just got camp set.” Robin says serenely, though his eyes are forlornly drifting towards the warm, orange interior of the kitchen. That’s definitely the rich aroma of Sumia’s pot pies wafting through the otherwise cold and bleak air.

“I know. That’s why I’m sorry to say we must make haste. Our scouts have spotted Risen up in the mountains, and if we don’t act quickly they may descend into the nearby towns.” Lucina explains, her face looking pallid as usual with worry.

And then it happens. For the first time in as long as he can remember, Lon’qu’s mouth seems to fall open of it’s own accord. “Funny. I didn’t realize you were the one who gave out orders now. Shouldn’t your father be the one telling us this?”

Lucina’s eyebrows rise under her bangs, which is about the most emotional as Lon’qu has ever seen her. Even Robin seems to gape at Lon’qu in disbelief as Lucina answers, this time with hesitancy. “... Yes… my father is with Frederick right now in the armory. I’ll let him know that you wish to speak with him.”

“Ah, that won’t be necessary, Lucina!” Robin blurts out, shuffling between Lon’qu and the young princess like he wants to use his body as a barrier. “I mean- you don’t need to do that. We’ll get ready right away. Thank you for telling us.”

Lucina gives the two of them a backwards look as she marches away, looking confused and vaguely upset with a frown pressing on her lips. It’s only once she is securely out of earshot that Robin is now safe to round on Lon’qu with an accusing glare.

“What was that about, huh? She was just doing what she was supposed to, you didn’t need to snap at the poor girl like that.”

The scurrying of an ant over the toe of his shoe suddenly absorbs Lon’qu’s attention. It has nothing to do with the fact that Robin’s eyes are all lit up with anger like lanterns or torches. “You shouldn’t let people speak to you that way. You’re the royal tactician. It wouldn’t kill you to have some dignity about it.”

Robin laughs, and it sounds like he’s choking. “Yeah, because no one’s richer with respect for his fellow man than you, right Lon’qu? You can compromise once in awhile, you know.”

Lon’qu doesn’t know how he’s meant to answer, so he just refuses to take the bait. Just scowls at the ground in silence, and the feeling is uncomfortably adjacent to when he first joined the Shepherds and knew exactly no one here, just being lonely and weird by himself.

After about a moment of empty silence, Robin folds his own arms over his chest. His brows are all furrowed and cross, not even bothering to hide his irritation like he does for most others. “Even if she is your rival or whatever for the Feroxi Championship, you should at least be tolerable to her. She’s a fine young woman, and she’s been through a lot.”

At this, a snort escapes Lon’qu. It’s amusing that Robin thinks he can scold Lon’qu like a common miscreant. Annoying, but amusing. “You sound like her father.”

Genuine surprise passes over Robin’s face. Eyes up, mouth parted. Perfect innocence. “What? Like Chrom?”

“No.” Lon’qu answers, then stalks away through the rain and the sleet. It’s called stalking when you’re being very independent and collected about it, and not storming off, which implies you do so in a big, emotional huff.

 

* * *

 

As Lon’qu could have predicted, the next leg of their journey was indeed already difficult enough without taking into account that it was a brief hike up a mountain. In a scant few miles upwards, the heavy fall of rain gives way to crisp flakes of snow, and the drop in temperature is steep enough to certainly slip a chill under the skin.

There are Risen in these mountains, and one can never discount the odd roving bandit stumbling into the path with a cheap sword and false bravado. It’s exactly the kind of thing Lon’qu should be on high alert for, so it’s imperative that his thoughts stop fixating on Robin.

He gives Robin some space, of course. On the rare occasion Lon’qu was upset at Ferox, Basilio never cared about him going off on his own, muttering something about Lon’qu ‘needing to cool off’- whatever that meant. Lon’qu is fine walking a few paces behind and keeping an eye on Robin’s back, as opposed to his usual position of fairly close to the front.

In the powdery flurry, the purple strip of Robin’s coat stands out like a dark bruise against the snow. It’s deceptively difficult to keep your eyes fixed on it, at least partially because Robin is somewhat overshadowed by a navy and silver-clad Chrom at his side, dutifully plowing ahead at the lead and making quiet conversation with his tactician. Chrom’s wife and his bodyguard hover close on their respective mounts protectively. Robin has likely already noted Lon’qu’s distance. At least, he probably has, if whatever conversation Chrom seems to be engrossing him with is not so captivating that he completely forgets Lon’qu exists. What an inconvenience that would be.

At his side, something large and sharp jabs Lon’qu in the ribs very suddenly, and in his distracted state it takes a whole five seconds for Lon’qu to draw his sword instead of his usual three. In those three seconds, Lon’qu’s lips scowl in the realization that he just got elbowed by Vaike.

“Hey! Look alive, man.” Vaike commands with a grin that’s all big, flashing teeth and manic eyes. In spite of his obvious elation, the fighter also has a curious furrow to his brows, almost like he’s annoyed. “What’s up with you? I already said I was gonna behead more undead goons than anybody else in this army, and you haven’t tried t’ tell me you’re gonna beat me even once! Finally giving in and becoming my acolyte?”

“Cease with your delusions.” Lon’qu snaps automatically, very used to this brand of idle banter with his fellow soldiers. It is, at least, more familiar than children falling out of portals from distant times or trying to tiptoe around Robin’s temper. “I simply know that childish taunts are beneath me. Also, I wasn’t listening to you at all. I had been wondering why there was such a pleasant silence this march.”

Sully guffaws from somewhere close behind them, bringing up the rear with her excellent defense in heavy armor but enough speed to bolt to the front of the pack if need be. “Nice.”

“Hey, you weren’t invited to this conversation!” Vaike’s lips turn in a pout over his shoulder at Sully, before honing back in on Lon’qu and shuffling his pace a little closer. Infuriatingly, Vaike seems to have a sixth sense for when someone is disrupted, fitting with his general theme of being too emotional and too nosy. “Seriously, though. The Vaike doesn’t need to tell you that if you aren’t focused, you’re probably gonna get your ass kicked. You good for this?”

Lon’qu feels himself lean away instinctively, though Vaike’s general familiarity and casualness gives him less of an inclination to bolt. The Shepherds may not always get along (in fact at times it seems they rarely do) but they are eerily in tune with each other’s moods. Lon’qu, who has never had the strongest impulse control to begin with, finds his behaviors and actions often analyzed by his fellow soldiers. Not least of which by Robin, who happened to be the first Shepherd intent on studying Lon’qu in great detail.

“Leave ‘im alone, Vaike. Lon’qu knows if he gets clocked out there, it’s gonna be his own damn fault.” Sully drawls while covering her mouth from a stiff yawn, which Lon’qu has to reluctantly agree with.

“Pfft. Surprising to hear you say that. Aren’t you s’posed to be all protective and motherly now that you’ve got a kid?” Vaike asks with his axe over his shoulder and his free hand on his hip. That may have been a twinge of jealously that Lon’qu detects in his voice, but Lon’qu isn’t very good at reading these sorts of things.

Sully grins broadly, flecks of fresh snow dappling her curly red hair in a way that almost looks serene for the paladin. “Hey, Kjelle is a tough cookie. If I went all Mama Bear on her anytime she got in a scrape, she might like the attention at first but eventually she’d just get pissed at me for getting in her way.”

“Yeah, that figures…” Vaike’s voice fades into a mumble, but Lon’qu’s attention is already a ways away. Because as their party ascends higher and higher up the frozen mountain, there appear to be shapes sticking out of the hard ground that aren’t just rocks and snow.

At first, the pillars appear to be entirely ice, having a nearly natural-looking spiral to their design. On closer inspection, however, it becomes obvious that the structures here are constructed out of light blue stone. The snow underfoot turns into white marble tiles, sometimes bearing huge gaps and cracks to show that nobody has been here for a very long time.

The Shepherds have been to ruins like this before. Sometimes recently fled by invasion of Risen or other turmoil in a time of war. Sometimes already long-abandoned, and just sitting here like an empty corpse for the undead to root around in like vultures. It’s hard to say which one this place is, only that it’s large and dangerous and very threateningly exposed in its decayed state like this.

When they’ve reached the summit of the mountain and come to a broad, flat stretch of carved marble that looks a little like it was at one time an alter of sorts, Robin calls everybody close. He has a tome of spells pressed close to his chest as the wind threatens to carry him away by the coattails, and observes them all with a thoughtful hand on his chin.

“The terrain here isn’t ideal for us moving as a big group. There are huge patches of ice and gaps in the flooring that would make it dangerous for us to stay too close together.” Robin has to almost shout to be heard, and he looks a little ridiculous being battered around by the wind while standing next to an unmoved and nonplussed Frederick. “I’d like us to divide into smaller groups of two or three and try to cover as much ground as possible. Our objective is to try and flush out as many Risen that might be hiding in these ruins as possible, so if you feel confident enough and have someone watching your back don’t be afraid to make yourself a target.”

This might seem like an odd request from a tactician. Go out into the open, away from the larger group. Let yourself get attacked in order to lure the enemy out of hiding. But all of them trust Robin, and all of them listen intently as Robin rattles off names of who would be best teaming up together.

“Lon’qu, it looks like you’re accompanying me.” Robin says last, surprising no one except for Lon’qu. Robin always says that melee fighters and magic-users go well together in combat, though his motives have not always been so simple. Lon’qu usually ends up accompanying Robin. It’s getting to be a little unsubtle. “Everyone- as always, if you feel like you’re in danger or are too injured to continue fighting, don’t hesitate to withdraw. Communicate with your healers.”

With that, they quickly split up. Lon’qu watches Lissa and Vaike venture out into the unfamiliar terrain like two yellow dandelions popping out of the snow. Meanwhile, Sully helps Miriel up onto her horse and soon take off in an opposite direction, and he and Robin take the path right down the middle.

Now, Lon’qu wouldn’t find himself in Robin’s company so often if he didn’t enjoy it. But sometimes being on missions, especially one where the enemy can’t immediately be seen, makes him nervous, because he knows Robin has a mind that can’t sit still. Talking and fidgeting helps him think. Quiet and concentration helps Lon’qu focus. So Lon’qu hopes, vainly, that this won’t turn into a battle where he has to exercise his multi-tasking ability at the same time as he is stabbing monsters.

Robin, of course, is oblivious. “Are you still mad at me?”

“I was never mad at you.” Lon’qu answers with certainty. His sword is drawn and he doesn’t look at Robin when he speaks, but he hopes the sentiment rings sincere enough. “Please don’t talk about this right now. We need to pay attention.”

“Right.”

They make it a few more paces, still no sight of the Risen. Not even so much as a bunny scampering through the snow. As a result, nothing to deter Robin in the slightest. “It just seemed like the last time we spoke, you were upset. On account of you rushing off in a big huff.”

“You’re always reading into things.” Lon’qu points out, pivoting half-way on his heels because he thought that he heard something crunching the snow behind them, but it only ended up being a snowbank falling over.

The cold tints Robin’s nose and cheeks pink, his silver hair crowned in glittering snow. He doesn’t seem bothered by the possibility that they could be ambushed at any minute. Lon’qu assumes it’s because Robin has a lot of faith in him. “You were bothered by the fact that Lucina was giving us orders, and then you said I sounded like her father. Are you angry at Chrom?”

Angry at the Prince of Ylisse? The most offensive thing that Chrom has ever done to Lon’qu is trip and break Lon’qu’s oak practice sword, and even that was easily solved with a promise to replace it and an overly intense, heartfelt apology from the exalt-to-be.

Though when Lon’qu thinks about it, he can see why Robin might assume Lon’qu’s frustrations are pointed at Chrom and his family. His daughters have made it a recent habit to be a thorn in the champion’s side, and he’s made it no small secret that the future children’s inexperience is a serious flaw rather than the charisma of youth that some of the other adults interpret it as.

Lon’qu’s chest heaves under the weight of a stern sigh. Surely, the sooner he can satisfy Robin’s nosiness, the sooner they can get back to work. Killing things is far more fun than feelings.

He isn’t good with words so he tries to tread carefully. Gluing his eyes to Robin’s face, the wheels in Lon’qu’s head turn to find a sentiment that is properly genuine but not uncomfortably so. So basically the exact opposite of what he is good at.

“Robin, I… appreciate the time and energy you have shared with me.” Oh yes, this was a huge mistake. Lon’qu forced himself to think less and speak more, hoping that if he just rushes through he’ll find the end to this conversation eventually. “Your attention is appreciated by me, and I know that I am not the easiest person to appreciate, so your appreciation is doubly appreciated. Do you understand?”

Robin makes the same face he does when Lon’qu has said something really daft; that is, to say, a vacant and slightly anxious smile. “What?”

Gods, how do people do this all the time? This communicating things. Lon’qu feels his tongue like lead in his mouth, but is determined to see this through. “What I mean is- I enjoy… what it is that we have. And I don’t mind continuing it, but if that is to happen you must understand there is no changing the road that I’m going down.”

“Okay…” Robin sounds less than confident, still giving Lon’qu a weird look. But at least he doesn’t look as disastrously confused.

“The life I am living is one that will always be streaked in blood. There’s nothing that can be done about that.” Lon’qu tries to explain, beginning to reach the dreadful realization that he’s talking much more and much faster than is usual of him. It feels exhausting. “There is very little time for peace. Or for family.”

“Hm. I see…”  Robin looks contemplative. Bundled up in his heavy clothing and gear, only his head is exposed. As he runs his palm over the thick cover of his tome, the mysterious markings on the back of his hand- the one that he can only assume is connected to Grimleal- sits against his skin. “That’s… very honest of you to say.”

The snow gradually begins to stop falling, and in the lack of movement the mountain becomes even more eerie and still. Stuck in time, as it were, in an eternally tense minute between the two Shepherds.

“Lon’qu, I… Sometimes I think that the reason I’ve made it so far as Chrom’s tactician is that I have so little to lose. I don’t know my origins. I have no memories of a family or a home before the Shepherds. This is all I know.” Robin explains, brushing his hair out of his face. “Even if I wanted to settle down and have a quiet life raising a family, I wouldn’t know how to go about doing that. I think that maybe that kind of life isn’t for me.”

A moment is taken to soak that in. Lon’qu feels something heavy fall out of his stomach, and he thinks that it’s a tiny spill of relief. “Good.” Robin smiles and his boots crunch the slow underneath him as he strides forward.

“I can’t believe that’s what you were worried about. You’re still full of surprises, Lon’qu.”

“Unpredictability is a familiar tool to a seasoned fighter.”

Lon’qu wouldn’t say that this has changed anything, except saved both of them from future difficult conversations. But it’s reassuring to know there won’t be any hard talks of settling down, or ending their relationship in order to marry ladies who are far more eligible than they themselves are.

He tells himself that it’s more convenient this way, not needing to worry about compromising his way of life for Robin’s sake or giving up his goals to one day rival Basilio. But when trouble does find them (as it inevitably always does) Lon’qu feels a certain looseness in his agile maneuvers and an extra quickness in his step. And when the swordsman stabs the enormous and shambling form of a Risen general through a chink in its armor and watches it crumble to the frozen ground, there’s a new lightness in his shoulders that almost feels like relief.

 

* * *

 

He has just watched Robin do something that looked suspiciously like summoning a literal bolt of lightning from the sky when there’s a sudden sound that always makes the listener’s blood run cold on the battlefield- a bloodcurdling scream.

“Who was that?” Robin asks, wild-eyes and frenzied. The high voice makes Lon’qu immediately think of Lissa and what horrible fate could befall her on an enemy blade, but it could easily be any of the women.

“I don’t-” Lon’qu cuts himself off to avoid being struck by a Risen’s arrow, spinning on his heel and hearing the metal just barely clip through his coat. Whoever they are, they picked a poor time to need assistance.

“I’m gonna go check it out.” Robin says. Or at least that’s what Lon’qu thinks he heard Robin said. But that can’t be right, because the idea of the royal strategist of Ylisse turning his exposed back to his enemies in the middle of battle would be so stupid that even Lon’qu, flagrant opposer of rules and protocol, would feel obligated to report Robin to their mutual commander for gross incompetence.

“Robin…” But, of course, there Robin goes bounding off into the snow, up an ice-covered set of crumbling stairs towards the noise indicating certain danger. The golden eye on the back of his coat seems to sneer at Lon’qu, and the champion in question feels a strongly worded letter of complaint to Chrom coming on as he reluctantly cuts down the axe-fighter and takes off after Robin.

You wouldn’t expect someone so scrawny to be so swift, especially since Lon’qu is the one who has spent many years traversing the difficult terrain of Ferox until he might as well swordfight with snowshoes strapped to his feet. But Robin is good at finding paths that most people don’t, and can squeeze through tight spots so well that he could almost give Gaius a run for his money (candy?)

But Lon’qu is stronger and faster, and it doesn’t take him long to catch up, sprinting after what he hopes are Robin’s footprints. And he does finally catch sight of Robin’s purple coat, the one with gold on it and looking like a deep, discolored bruise. Only it’s not Robin wearing it.

There’s a flash of steel, glowing in the light reflecting off of the snow like silver fire as it cuts through a Risen soldier. The figure wearing Robin’s coat flicks the blood off of her sword and onto the frost-covered rocks while Robin stands with his eyes transfixed on her, paralyzed in shock. Lon’qu doesn’t know what kind of thing he’s feeling right now, this sensation like coldness is soaking into his arms and his legs and gnawing at every bone in his body, but he hopes it’s an early symptom of hypothermia.

“Father?” The girl in Robin’s coat asks, sounding intensely relieved. The wind cards through her hair, brushing it out of the way of her elated smile. Blood-stained sword still in hand, she crashed into Robin with a full-bodied embrace, while Robin looks stiff and dumbstruck and terrified.

 

* * *

 

She calls herself Morgan, and she swears up and down to be Robin’s daughter. Lon’qu isn’t convinced yet. Sure, she has a slender build much like Robin’s own, but so do many people. Robin’s complexion is darker than her’s, an inheritance from his Plegian roots, but Morgan is fairly browner than many of her Ylissean peers.

She has dark brown hair that frames her round, youthful face, and big, black eyes that reflect light like the dark side of the moon. She couldn’t be any older than fifteen. She carries a sword on her hip, and a version of Robin’s coat on her back that is frayed and tattered at the edges from age.

Oh, and she also claims she has no memory of anything except for her father.

“Why don’t you just start by telling us everyone who does or doesn’t have kids in the future who decided to jump through time with you?” Robin says to Lucina when they all get back, sounding more than a little miffed. Lucina’s eyes flicker between Robin and the freshly arrived Morgan, blinking hard.

“We- _I_ wasn’t sure who would actually make the journey,” Lucina admits, looking very grim and very guilty. “I didn’t think it was my place to burden anyone here with the knowledge of a child they would never meet.”

“It’s okay, Lucina.” Morgan says, playing with the buttons on her coat. Lon’qu stays silent in his own corner of the room, but he can’t help but look for Robin in the way she moves and talks. Do they really resemble each other as father and daughter, or is Lon’qu just too divorced from the idea of family to tell? “I just- well, I’m sorry I don’t have my memories of you, or the war, or anything else. This whole thing just seems so surreal…”

Yeah, that’s one word for it.

Lon’qu, for his money, has never seen Robin look so vexed. For someone who always claims to have a plan, he keeps looking down at Morgan like he can’t believe he’s seeing her. At his side, Chrom looks obliviously pleased. “Always good to have new blood aboard, right? I wonder if you inherited any of your father’s specialties.”

“Me, too. I remember all the nights we spent studying tactics together.” Morgan beams, turning now to face Robin with a look of earnest trust and love on her face. “Father, I know that this must be a surprise for you- I can’t imagine how you feel right now, just finding out that I exist. Er, that I will exist one day. But please give me a shot and I’ll prove everything I’ve learned from you!”

And Robin, in a room with his daughter plus all of his friends and allies, looks for a split second like a man being confronted by a 100-foot python instead of a teenager. And before his lips even part, his eyes flick to Lon’qu as if asking for help. Or for permission. But Lon’qu just returns his look with a hard stare of his own. It isn’t like he’s the one being begged for acceptance.

Quickly, Robin’s expression evens out. He gives Morgan an attempt at a smile, eyes crinkling around the corners and trying not to hyperventilate. “Yeah. I mean, yes, of course, Morgan.” He puts his hand on her shoulder, squeezing while she glows with elation. “It’s my pleasure to get to know you.”

In all the excitement of a new future progeny among their ranks, nobody seems to notice Lon’qu is the first person out of the war tent. It’s not that he wants to leave or anything, it’s merely that he has a dark corner that needs lurking in and some potatoes than need furious, repetitive peeling.

 

* * *

 

For the next few days, Morgan is all anyone can talk about. The camp seems to be atwitter with observations; she’s so polite. She’s so naive. She’s so cute. Not once but twice, Virion gets caught trying to convince Morgan that he taught her father everything he knows, or Tharja ghosts her around to try and get closer intel on Robin. If Lon’qu didn’t know any better, he’d assume that everyone likes Morgan’s amnesia more than they actually like Morgan.

But the favorite topic among the army is, by far, the subject of Morgan’s mother. And despite constant needling and whispers, neither Robin nor his daughter have anything to say on that subject.

Lon’qu is keeping his cool. Continuing his day-to-day routine with a thin-lipped frown on his face as always and gravitating around the training equipment, it’s almost as if Morgan didn’t exist at all.

The only thing that’s changed is, admittedly, the amount of time Robin gets to hover around Lon’qu like a curious specter. Apparently Morgan is keeping his hands full.

Only one time does Lon’qu have a conversation with Morgan. It’s when he takes a break from his morning training for breakfast, and his thoughts are absorbed in what he’s going to eat in order to keep his stamina up for afternoon training with Gregor. Then of course after dinner is evening training with Cordelia. Quite a busy day he has planned.

They’re closer to the south than they were when Morgan was discovered, literally on the edge of Chon’sin where the land dips into the sea. This is Lon’qu’s home country, a fact that hasn’t escaped anyone in the Shepherds, but he feels more uneasy here than wistful. He hasn’t been here since he was a child, after all, and the only good thing he knew in it is long gone. And besides, when Lon’qu gets homesick, it’s always and only for Regna Ferox.

It’s warm here, which is another quality of this country that Lon’qu doesn’t much care for. And when he puts down his training word and slips his coat back on, he turns around and finds a pair of dark eyes fixed on him.

Morgan blinks with long, fanning lashes, and a smile on her lips that is unnervingly cheerful. “That was amazing! I can’t believe a person can move so fast.” Suddenly, she blushes darkly and puts her hand to her soft cheek. “Eh heh, I guess it’s rude of me to just watch you. I didn’t mean to spy.”

Lon’qu’s fear of women is hit or miss when it comes to young girls. Something about them being so small and looking so fragile makes him anxious. Or maybe just because they look like _she_ did. Still, he forces himself to cast those thoughts away. “It’s fine.” Her eyes follow him around the room as he tries to move past here.

“Uh, hey! Wait!” Morgan blurts out, jogging to keep up with Lon’qu as he pushes the tent flap aside. “I’m sorry, but what’s your name?”

“It won’t be important for you to know.” He answers simply, not breaking stride. Something a little like guilt gnaws at his ankles for rejecting someone who is connected to Robin, but Lon’qu reminds himself that this is basically how he is to everyone when he first meets them. No reason to treat her special.

“Yeah, it is!” Morgan breaks into a full-blown sprint, long coat floundering behind her boots wildly. She’s pretty quick herself, bounding past Lon’qu at top speed and stumbling to a quick stop before spinning on her heels to face him. She raises her clenched fists up to her chest, shoulders set with determination. “I don’t know why, but I have this strong feeling that you’re important to me!”

Lon’qu isn’t sure it’s even possible for him to freeze up more, but if he could he would be doing so. Is this a trick? Did Robin put his own kid up to this in some bizarre way to make Lon’qu ‘feel better?’

“I don’t have any of my memories, so I’m fine just learning about things as they come to me. But something tells me I need to listen to this feeling in my gut, and it’s saying that in my future you were someone I knew really well.”

Well, Lon’qu can suppose he understands that. A warrior who doesn’t act on their instincts is hardly a good warrior at all. Maybe that goes the same for… whatever it is that Morgan is.

“My name is Lon’qu. Will that suffice?”

“Lon’qu…” Morgan repeats the name wistfully, with barely a ghost of a breath. Her eyes have a far-away glimmer in them, brows knit in concentration. She holds her breath in a powerful, pregnant pause and then… “Nope. I got nothing.”

Well, worth a shot. “Don’t worry about it.” Lon’qu mutters, and gives himself a lot of room to move around Morgan and continue to the mess hall

“I’ll get it, though!”

Morgan raises her voice, and Lon’qu realizes that she’s still talking to him even as he walks further away. There’s a familiar twitch to the corner of the girl’s lips, one that might be more recognizable with snowy white hair and eyes the color of copper coins. “I know I’ll remember you eventually!”

For such a small girl, Morgan’s voice crashes like thunder.

 

* * *

 

“Put that down.”

“I’m almost done.”

“I’ll take it away.”

“A few more minutes.”

“...”

“...”

“The light is keeping me awake.”

 

Robin takes the pen that he had been gnawing on and places it between the pages of his tome before sealing it shut, and when he drops it on the crate he uses as a makeshift bookshelf it slams down with enough weight to crush a small animal.

In the dim glow of the bronze lamp, Lon’qu watches from Robin’s bedroll. Back turned to Lon’qu, the tactician disrobes with an absolute lack of urgency. His coat slides off of his shoulders, the boots come undone from his feet. Everything is removed and folded up until Robin is wearing only his undershirt and smallclothes, and there’s something relaxing about watching the methodical motions. The light washes over Robin’s slender form, creating shadowy divots in places where shallow scars have cut into his earthy skin. Lon’qu thinks it makes him look strong. A little weathered.

“You’re bossy.” Robin complains as he slips underneath the cover next to Lon’qu. “Roll over a little bit, please. I haven’t seen you all day.”

Lon’qu complies, rolling over onto his side, though not without some grumbling. “You always do that.” He says as Robin presses himself up against his back. A warm arm snakes over Lon’qu’s hip, and he can feel a gentle breath on the back of his neck.

“Mm?” Robin’s hum vibrates up Lon’qu’s spine, and Lon’qu realizes that it is the first time they’ve been alone together in a while. Robin seems hungry for affection, and painfully unaware about who really is the bossy one here.

“You always want to curl up against me, but then you complain about your face being in my back and ask me to move down.” Lon’qu points out, and though his eyes are fixed on the walls of the tent he imagines that he can feel the edge of Robin’s smirk against his shoulder blade. “Then my feet stick out of the blankets all night.”

“Awh, poor baby!” Robin coos before he scoots up on the bedroll, high enough on the pillow that his lips brush Lon’qu’s hair. His voice is as sickly sweet as honey, in the gooey and secretive way that makes Lon’qus face feel a little warm. He’s not used to being coddled, and Robin likes to continuously surprise him. “Better?”

“Better if we had a bedroll made for more than one person.”

“Don’t I know it." Robin sighs against Lon’qu’s ear. He sounds like wind and rain and music.

There are crickets going loudly outside. Lon’qu has slept in a warm bed with heavy, hand-made quilts and on the hard, rocky ground, but never with another person before Robin. He doesn’t think Robin has, either. At least not that he can remember, which admittedly does leave a lot up in the air.

It can be nice, feeling the weight of another body next to his own. Other times it can be extremely, extremely unnerving. Times when Lon’qu wakes up and he has no idea where he is. And he can’t tell the roof of a tent from an open sky, or the canvas walls from a grimy brick alley, or the body of his lover beside him from a dangerous and unknown entity clouded by confusion and alarm.

Lon’qu could do without those things. But they always pass. And when they do, Lon’qu has to once again grapple with the reality that things might actually be okay sometimes.

Robin’s body radiates warmth, but not too warm. “I’ve been thinking…” Lon’qu doesn’t reply, because he knows that Robin is going to tell him anyways. “About telling Morgan. Telling her about us.”

“Is that necessary?”

“She has questions, Lon’qu. About me. And about you. She’s actually a little bit insatiable.” Robin sighs, and Lon’qu feels a stray set of fingers toying with the hair on the nape of his neck.

“Sometimes she reminds me of you, in a way.” Robin continues.

Lon’qu’s mind flits back to the chipper teenager with the big, sunny smile. “I’m not following.”

“Well, Morgan is really loyal, for one thing. She has a stubborn streak, and can be kind of a pill when she sets her mind on something.” Robin muses, tapping her fingers against Lon’qu’s hip like the surface of his studying desk.

Feeling his body relax into the meager cushioning of the bedroll, Lon’qu grunts. “I’m never a pill.”

“You’re a delight.” Robin agrees, and his grip on Lon’qu becomes an affectionate squeeze. “She’s lonely, too. Morgan is. I mean... even if this is all a crazy mistake and she isn’t really my future kid, she’s all alone in the world with no memory and the only thing she wants is her dad back. I feel bad for her.”

Lon’qu’s eyes feel very tired, but his mind is unwilling to rest. He’s used to nights like this, torn between wanting to descend to thoughtless sleep and wishing to avoid what he might see in his dreams. Doubt and fear are always nipping at his heels, like rats in the corner of a sinking ship. “You think she really is your kin, then?”

Robin doesn’t answer for a long time. He fiddles with Lon’qu’s hair and the skin of his hips like Lon’qu is a toy, trying to worry away his running thoughts. When he does speak, a gentler voice brushes against Lon’qu’s shoulder. “I have no plans on leaving you. Children or no children, I would stay for as long as you’d have me around.”

Lon’qu listens to the quiet breathing that fills up the tent. His own, and also Robin’s. They’re out of sync, with him being bigger and following his own rhythm, and Robin being smaller and prone to being a victim of his own emotions. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy listening to the gentle puffs of air falling from Robin’s lips. Lon’qu sometimes holds his breath when Robin is sleeping, so the tent is silent except for Robin’s heartbeat echoing in his ear.

He wants to say that the sentiment is shared. That he would gladly follow Robin to the ends of the earth, with only infrequent grumbling and complaints along the journey. What he decides on is a simple, “Thank you.”

“Of course.” There’s a tugging on Lon’qu’s waist. “Now turn around. I’d like to kiss you.”

Lon’qu’s shoulderblades sink into the pillow, and Robin sinks onto him.

 

* * *

 

Robin says he wants to tell Morgan, so he does. In the morning, he invites Morgan to his tent and sits her down with Lon’qu and himself. He makes tea while Morgan’s eyes follow him around the tent with concern and Lon’qu remains passively seated with his arms folded over his chest.

And over the course of an entire morning that seems to Lon’qu to be many hours longer than it is and take many years off of his life, Robin does succeed in telling Morgan that Lon’qu is more than just a very close friend.

She catches on quicker than Lon’qu would have thought, most of the conversation just involves Robin talking over himself like a tool. Morgan kicks her heels off the ground, frowning thoughtfully as she touches her fingers to her face. “Right, that makes sense…”

“Oh, yes?”

“Well, I knew that I had this very distinct feeling. I found it spooky that I had so many memories of my father, but none of my mother.” Morgan turns to face Lon’qu this time, and her dark eyes absorb him. Not light brown with gold twisting the iris’s like Robin’s, but almost black, like warm coals. Her voice is dreamy, as if she’s reading from a book of fairy tales. “So when I thought about it for a long time, I feel like could almost remember you… I had this vision. You were looking at me and smiling, and you said my name.”

Well, it doesn’t sound wildly unbelievable, at least. Lon’qu has been known, on occasion, to say things and sometimes they are people’s names. Smiling is more rare, but it sure is something he’s capable of doing. Lon’qu looks to Robin for help, who just shrugs cluelessly in response. “Well, Morgan, I guess you’d know better than us-”

“Okay!” Morgan leaps to her feet, fists clenched up to her chest again. There’s a fiery smile on her face again, and her chest is swelling with pride. “Father, you always told me that we are the masters of our own destiny! That if we want something to change, we have to be the change that we want to see.”

“Aww, Morgan.” Robin smiles, still looking lost. “That’s very nice-”

“So I won’t give up on you, Lon’qu!” Again, she is looking towards the swordsman imploringly, and he finds her rapt attention to be… well, he’s been more comfortable before. “I won’t give up on remembering my other father!”

In a blur of purple, Morgan bolts out of the tent to presumably do some very hard remembering, leaving Robin and Lon’qu in her dust. Lon’qu tries to stand, and realizes he is somehow frozen to his chair. He feels dizzy. And Nauseated. “Get Lissa.”

“I think it went well.” Robin’s fingers card through his own silver strands.

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, having Morgan constantly tailing Robin around was one thing. Lon’qu was perhaps unprepared for having his own little shadow. It seems that every time he turns around, whether it’s on the training field or on the way to dinner, he’s constantly tripping over a small ball of sunshine wrapped in a big, purple cloak.

“It’s my turn to help with dinner tonight. I wanted to give you a little sample of what I made.” She announced, lifting her hands up so that Lon’qu can see the steaming rolling off of the liquid in the clay pot. “You don’t have to try it now. It’s a little hot, so you might want to let it cool.”

The smell is familiar, and shockingly nostalgic of the stony kitchens in Castle Ferox where the constant boiling of hearty, rich foods was always at odds with the frigid chill outside. Stepping inside and felt like traveling across the continent. Lon’qu’s eyebrows raise. “You made cabbage stew.”

“Yeup!” Morgan beams smartly as Lon’qu takes the bowl from her hands. Mostly to inspect it for any shrapnel. Because he’s eaten Lissa’s cooking just enough times to be wary when someone here hands him food now. “You’re always peeling potatoes to relax, so everyone thinks that they’re your favorite food. But when cabbage stew is for dinner, you’re always the first one at the kitchen.”

Lon’qu takes a cautious sniff of the stew as Morgan explains, then when he deems it safe he risks dipping the tip of his tongue in. Not bad. Very salty, though. “Good eye.” He appraises her. “Thank you, Morgan.”

He’s oddly gratified to see her grin grow even wider. The messy way that her bangs fall into her eyes and frame her face makes her look like her father. Though Lon’qu isn’t sure he’s ever seen Robin smile so brightly like that. “Well, I figure even if I’m not gonna remember anything about you or my friends, I better start making new memories. I’ll let you know when dinner is ready, Lon’qu.”

Morgan zips off, as is her want. And Lon’qu waits until she’s safely out of sight before spitting out a bad piece of cabbage, and wondering if everyone has taken this association with him and potatoes just a touch to the extreme.

 

* * *

 

It’s inevitable that other people notice Morgan’s interest in Lon’qu. To the same extent that it’s inevitable that people noticed Robin’s interest in Lon’qu when they first started courting. If ‘courting’ can be the word they put to it, though Robin tells him they’re far past the courting stage. Lon’qu has to admit, when they’re in bed together talking about not never leaving each other, simply stating that they have ‘a thing’ no longer cuts the jib.

Fortunately, few people seem inclined to approach Lon’qu to inquire about it. Apparently, Lon’qu doesn’t exactly give off the vibe that invites people to ask probing questions about his personal life. Unfortunately, there are still a few who can.

“Lon’qu, you are a funny man.” Gregor is one of these people, sharpening a blade the width of his arm with a whetstone the side of his palm. “Every day you are coming to training, yes? Yet you never invite your daughter. Gregor would think you want to teach her much.”

Something about the way that Gregor talks to him always makes Lon’qu feel a bit churlish. It reminds him of the way Basilio would tease him when Lon’qu was a teenager, always finding a way to use his temper to goad him into doing what Basilio asked. At any rate, Lon’qu holds his tongue and retrieves a sword from the armory that appears to be in good condition. “Is your memory leaving you? None of the children who came back claimed to be mine. I would think your daughter would remind you of that.”

“Hmph.” Gregor grunts at the jab at his age. Lon’qu doesn’t like to resort to petty insults, and reminds himself that he’s above such things even when it comes to know-it-all, empty-headed sellswords who wouldn’t know how to take something seriously if it bit his toe off. “Lon’qu is so callous! First he insults good friend Gregor, then he forgets all about Morgan?”

Lon’qu doesn’t say anything in response to that. Mostly because he has nothing to say, and his brain fails at finding something appropriate to fill the silence.

He leaves it silent long enough for Gregor to put aside his sword and stone, standing up with his hands braced on his knees and a noisy groan. “Gregor is great with little ones, no? He sees much things interesting with children. Come see!”

Before Lon’qu can protest, Gregor’s fist is clenched around his sleeve and he’s dragging Lon’qu like a surly cat out of the equipment shed. “Hey!”

“Trust Gregor, alright?”

“Fine. Now let go while you still have your arm attached.”

Even after relocating, their camp can’t seem to escape the briny shores that keep them anchors to the ports and harbors. The outside air tastes like salt and seaweed, and when Lon’qu sees the beaches spread out around them he bitterly remembers his fondness for snow and frost.

What Gregor is trying to show him becomes clear soon enough, because not far away from camp at all, the children from the future have arranged their own training circle. Lon’qu has to imagine the sandy terrain makes for a new, useful training feature, though he might be the only one actually thinking that.

“Oi, Severa!” Gregor grins and waves broadly for his daughter. The only teenager among them with red hair bright enough to rival both her parents looks up with a sour look from an apparent spat with Kjelle. But, of course, once she sees her father her eyes practically melt and suddenly she’s all sugar and sweetness.

“Hi, Daddy!” She beams, voice as sickly sweet as honey. “Did you come to watch me train again. You, uh, know you don’t have to do that, right? We can handle ourselves out here.”

“Gregor knows, child.” He placates her, and puts his massive hand against Lon’qu’s back. ‘Good with the little ones,’ indeed. Gregor is a total sucker for parenthood. “We will not intrude long.”

Their presence seems to be a disturbance to the teens. Or maybe, more specifically, Lon’qu’s presence is a disturbance, since Gregor claims to be oh-so familiar. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Morgan sitting on the grass next to Yarne and Nah, watching Lon’qu with careful, attentive eyes. Gregor notices this, too.

“Morgan, you fight with a sword, yes? Show Gregor and Lon’qu what you know. Perhaps we help.” He says to her, indicating towards the blade sitting at her feet. “Maybe other child offer to spar with you? Perhaps a noble young lad worthy of challenge?”

Owain and Brady make motions to move, but no sooner are the words out in the air than Inigo practically materializes, marching towards Morgan and waving his hands proudly. “Oh, alright. If you insist!”

Morgan’s eyes flicker to the sword, to Gregor, to Lon’qu, a touch of uncertainty crinkling her eyes around the corner. “Uh-”

“Don’t worry, Morgan.” Inigo stoops down, offering the young woman his hand and easily lifting her to her feet. “I won’t hurt you. This is just practice, remember? Atta’ girl!”

Lon’qu’s eyes watch Morgan stand up reluctantly, shuffling out of Robin’s coat and folding it up on the ground so that the sun touches her bare shoulders. The heavy outerwear cloaks her, and without it she immediately moves faster and more gracefully. Morgan picks up her sword and brushes her thick, dark hair away from her neck.

As the two teenagers take their position on the training field, Lon’qu’s eyes flick to Gregor. Surely, he knows nothing good can come from egging a bunch of rowdy, hormonal kids on. But the older mercenary just stares forward with a thin smile spread over his square jaw, and Lon’qu has no choice but to be disappointed that Robin isn’t here to be the voice of reason.

“O-okay. Are you ready, Inigo?” Morgan asks, spreading her stance on her feet solidly. Her hand grips the hilt of the sword tightly, Lon’qu notices her sucking in a slow, steady breath and her face falls into flat focus. He notices also, for the first time, that the sword that Morgan carries has a distinctive curve to it, marking it as being not of Ylissean origins. When she adjusts her footing, she has her right foot placed behind her left, tense at the knees.

Inigo stands with his sword in one hand, his shield raised in the other. Though he may seem like a blowhard, Lon’qu has spent enough time observing the children at Robin’s request to know that Olivia’s son is no slouch on the battlefield. The grin that he gives Morgan across from him is nothing short of dazzling. “Come on now, dear. Remember we’re both friends here-”

It’s quick reflexes and the sheer, blurring speed of the feet underneath him that Inigo dodges the flash of metal just barely missing his chest. He scrambles backwards on his toes, this time braced for a parry as Morgan brings her blade down on top of his own, ringing loudly with the crash and the lightning-sparks of metal grinding painfully against metal.

On the defensive, Inigo looks flustered but not as surprised as Lon’qu would imagine him to be. He manages to throw Morgan off, counter-striking, and again their swords clash in a surprisingly even rivalry of strength.

Morgan’s hair dances around her face when she moves, falling away from her chin and in bare seconds between motion Lon’qu can see her face. And what he sees is… well, for once, somebody who is not trying to be like Robin. Her lips are parted, breath falling easily from her lungs as her body operates with precision. When Morgan draws her sword back for an offensive blow, she does so with her elbows parallel, one arm and one foot each drawn back and ready to spring forward in an instant. Ready to pierce the enemy so quickly and so powerfully they don’t even see it coming.

Next to Lon’qu, Gregor radiates with pride. With his arms crossed over his massive chest, his voice is a smug rumble that Lon’qu is tragically familiar with. “She’s good, no? Reminds Gregor of a certain someone.”

There’s no two ways about it, Morgan’s technique with a sword is a mirror image of Lon’qu’s.

 

* * *

 

The next time Lon’qu sees Morgan, he’s looking for her this time. And he has an idea of where to find her.

The supply shed, despite containing reserves for most of the army’s food, is rarely ever occupied. Perhaps because any soldier looking to grab a bite would probably find nothing except raw beets and crates full of salt. It’s dark, and cramped, and honestly is a pretty dreary location to find oneself in compared to the warm kitchens next door.

Morgan is sitting on a crate, legs criss-cross on top of the wooden surface, with an open bag of raw potatoes sitting in her lap. Her eyes are narrowed in concentration on the knife in her hand, carefully carving a spiral around the potato in her other palm. A long, unbroken curl of brown potato skin dangles across her knee.

When Lon’qu opens the door to the shed, he lets in a blast of sunlight that stretches across the floor and touches the edges of Morgan’s feet. “You forgot your coat.” The violet cloth is in an untidy ball under his arm.

Her eyes snap up to him, and that’s an expression he recognizes; pensive. Thoughtful. Lon’qu always appreciated that, even being the mysterious foreigner he was, he was allowed to be far out of the limelight during his time in Ylisse. And anyone who tried to drag him into the political nonsense that plagued their country would be tragically disappointed. Robin, grandmaster tactician and Plegian immigrant, was not so lucky, and he makes that face when he’s put on the spot in front of an audience without a plan.

“Oh yeah. Forgot all about that.” Morgan smiles generously, switching quickly to her usual chipper demeanor. “Sorry. I guess I did leave kind of fast? I felt like I needed to think.”

“This is a good place to be alone.” Lon’qu agrees. She doesn’t invite him in or anything, so Lon’qu waits a beat before stiffly stepping into the shed and offering Morgan the coat with one outstretched arm. There can be no doubt that it’s Robin’s coat from the future. Some of the buttons are missing, and there is a great gash in the shoulder that was hastily mended together. Lon’qu wonders what happened before deciding it’s probably not all that important to where they are now.

Morgan puts down her tool and her spud to take the coat gratefully. “Thank you.” She blinks, smoothing the fabric over her lap. The creases even out under her palm, exploring the soft texture lovingly. “You wanna know how I know all those cool moves with the sword, huh? I think we both already know the answer.”

Lon’qu tries to wrap his mind around that, and there’s no small amount of difficulty in doing so. Trying to picture himself older and tutoring a young child in the ways of the sword. Patiently coaxing a distractible, playful Morgan into an art that Lon’qu himself had only learned through discipline and pain. Robin is in there, somewhere, maybe watching his daughter and Lon’qu train as Morgan grows stronger each day.

If he took out the inevitable horror of Grima, and everyone he knows now dying horribly, could such a future really exist?

Morgan’s shoulders curl around her ears, and she truly does look so much smaller without Robin’s oversized coat covering her. Very young and fragile, with her arms littered with light scars and her body beginning to shake. Dark brown hair hangs in front of her face like a curtain as she looks down, and Lon’qu doesn’t see the tears until they drip onto the coat in dark, almost black, pinpricks.

“Morgan.” Lon’qu tries to not immediately feel panic crawl up his gut. He doesn’t believe anybody has ever cried in front of him before- even Robin, when at the brink of his threshold for pain and exhaustion, would rather weather that storm alone and come to Lon’qu afterwards for comfort. This is very new territory, and Lon’qu feels immensely uncomfortable to watch it unfold. “I’ll get your father-”

There’s a noise like a squeak, which Lon’qu realizes is Morgan hiccuping, before she raises her voice. “No, it’s okay. I’m s- I’m so sorry… I’m okay.” She heaves in a great breath, chest puffing out before she looks up and sniffs loudly, wiping her nose with the inside of her shirt. Redness tinges her eyes, and Lon’qu feels like he’s never known how many things a body can do when someone is sad. It’s like Morgan’s entire body is trying to reject the emotions like an illness.

“I’m so useless…” She sniffles again, raking her fingers through her bangs while her voice goes hoarse. “I can’t remember you. Everyone else, everyone who says they were my friend in the future- I just can’t remember. I don’t even know what I’m good at, or what kind of person I am, and every time I try to figure myself out the memories just feel farther away. I’m sorry, Lon’qu.”

Aside from being immediately overwhelmed, Lon’qu tries to imagine what Robin would do. Actually, no. Forget that. Lon’qu tries to imagine what he would do. The Future Lon’qu. The one that, somehow, despite all odds, apparently helped raise Morgan and taught her as if she was his own.

Even if it seems unlikely, isn’t it possible that could happen? That Robin would stay with Lon’qu that long, even years after this war had ended and Regna Ferox called Lon’qu to come back home? That he would love Lon’qu enough to stay by his side and want to raise a child together? Stranger things have happened in the world, just not to Lon’qu personally.

Lon’qu’s palm lands on the top of Morgan’s head. Her hair is soft and thick, and her aforementioned smallness seems absurdly exaggerated when compared to Lon’qu’s own proportions. Her sniffling stifles at once, and her wide eyes are directed up at him through her bangs.

“You’re not useless. And you haven’t failed anyone.” Lon’qu promises her. He knows, after all, what it’s like to really, truly feel useless. And it’s not a sensation he would ever wish on a child. Particularly not his own. “Your friends will understand what you’re going through. Robin and everyone else is just happy to have you here.”

His tongue feels thick with the words he’s going to say next, but adrenaline is a powerful force of nature. “Your… father and I are proud of you.”

The noise that escapes Morgan is like an airless gasp, an emotional sound, and then in one instance she is on her feet. With Robin’s coat pinned between them Morgan wraps her arms around Lon’qu’s midsection in a tight hug. Lon’qu’s body immediately stiffens all over, and his hands fly up towards the ceiling in alarm. The irony that this is basically how Morgan and Robin’s first encounter happened will not dawn on him for a few hours.

“Thanks, Lon’qu.” Morgan mumbles into Lon’qu’s shirt, smearing it with the wetness of her tears.

“It’s okay.”

“I’m making you very uncomfortable right now, aren’t I?”

“Intensely.” He answers. “But that’s fine.” He could, at the very least, learn to tolerate it once in awhile.

 

* * *

 

At the end of the war, a lot of things happen very quickly all at once. Basilio dies, and then isn’t dead. Robin is the Fell Dragon, but also the Fell Dragon is Robin from another future or something. The Fell Dragon who is Alternate Robin dies. The Robin who is the Fell Dragon but not the Robin who is the Fell Dragon from another future disappears, then reappears. It honestly takes Lon’qu longer than he would like to admit to process the whole thing.

Regardless, they finally reach a point where there is no immediate war or threat of extinction on the horizon. There are a lot of thing to figure out, but likewise there is a lot of time to make plans. At least that’s what Robin always says.

“I suppose I should apologize for dragging you into this whole mess.” Robin sighs as he watches Lon’qu single-handedly carry a large bookcase into their shared room. Robin had offered earlier to help, only to receive a blank look from Lon’qu that ended in Robin taking a supervisor role. “If it weren’t for me, maybe that war would have never happened.”

“Apologizing for something that isn’t your fault is self-depreciating.” Lon’qu answers firmly, pushing the shelf into the corner where Robin points. “I don’t care about any of that, anyways. You should try to be less serious.”

Robin snorts once. “Strong words. Will Morgan be joining us for dinner this evening?”

Lon’qu wipes his hands on his pants, observing his handiwork. Since Robin’s disappearance, Morgan had been difficult to get a hold of. She did, however, never seem too far away from either Lon’qu, or from any of her other friends from the future. When Robin was recovered, she still wanted to try living independently, but was never opposed to dropping by to visit her parents. “Yes, I had her room set up already.”

When Morgan arrives home, she often brings interesting things she’s found on her travels. Lon’qu thinks she may be going on adventures of her own, just like her parents before her.

So when she appears at Robin and Lon’qu’s door with a bundle in her arms, they let her in without a word. Morgan grins her widest, wildest grin. “Guess who I found today.” She unwraps a portion of the rough cloth wrapped around the bundle to reveal familiar large, dark eyes. A spitting image of the young woman holding her.

 


End file.
